Chemistry, Romance, and the Alchemy Thereof
by Neotoma
Summary: Summary: Hank McCoy has two problems: everyone knows, and yet everyone doesn't. Written for the LGBTfest, prompt 869: "Hank McCoy once told the world he was gay in a publicity stunt. What was the public reaction? Did he ever recant? What was the reaction?


Chemistry, Romance, and the Alchemy Thereof

By Neotoma

**Summary: **Hank McCoy has two problems – everyone knows, and yet everyone doesn't. Written for the LGBTfest, using prompt 869: "Hank McCoy once told the world he was gay in a publicity stunt. What was the public reaction? Did he ever recant? What was the reaction then?"

* * *

"Professor McCoy?" Victor Borkowski asked, having waited until all the other students had fled the chemistry laboratory. Hank sometimes wondered if he was so impossible a teacher that the students threw themselves out the door once the hour was up.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Borkowski?" Hank said as he gathered up the quizzes. Another hour of grading, and wondering if Santo Vaccarro was secretly brilliant at chemistry, or if he was just very good at cheating off Megan Gwynn. Hank had thought the boy had sat behind the girl because he had a crush on Pixie, but maybe it was to take advantage of their relative sizes to peek at answers.

"I wanted to ask… why is Mogenic blocked? I was using it yesterday, and today it won't come up on the computers."

"This is an online site? For what?"

"It's a networking site. I had a profile up and everything."

"What were you doing with your profile, Mr. Borkowski? Miss Pryde is in charge of our networks, and she doesn't just block things for no reason."

"I was just chatting. With guys. You know."

"Just chatting?"

"Yeah. Maybe I was flirting a little…"

Hank sighed. From the way Anole was hedging, the boy had either been trading porn or been a lot more explicit than 'flirting'. Not that Hank had any objection to viewing porn or engaging in cyber-sex, since as an adult he could indulge in either legally (and sometimes did the first), but Victor was under-aged and the school had a responsibility.

"Didn't you want to talk to other gay kids when you were my age?" Anole asked.

Hank answered before thinking, and thus came out with the all too honest, "I wasn't gay when I was your age."

"…what?" Victor stared at him, confused.

Hank sighed. "I'm not the same person as I was born, genetically. There are small but significant differences, if you fingerprint my DNA from now against the samples from when I was a student here. That's lead to some… unexpected… changes."

"That's… kinda weird, sir."

"You didn't have to live through it, Mr. Borkowski. Trust me, it is much stranger from the inside."

"But will you talk to Miss Pryde?"

Hank nodded. "I'll talk to Miss Pryde. But even if she does unblock that site, Victor, you'll be monitored; I suggest you purge your computer of anything that you wouldn't want your parents seeing," Hank held up a hand at the bleat of protest the boy made, "I'm not that naïve, Mr. Borkowski. You are a teenager; if you weren't pushing boundaries, we'd be wondering what was wrong with you. However, the school is responsible to your parents, and there are boundaries we won't let you cross."

Anole deflated a little, and mumbled, "Yessir," before he wandered out the door.

...

"Move it, kid. I was sitting there."

Keller gave him a dirty look, but Bobby wasn't about to let a kid, even Emma's perfect boy-wonder, steal his seat. The kid got up and moved to the floor, while Bobby settled in next to Hank on the couch.

"The science is ridiculous," Hank muttered as Bobby passed him the popcorn.

"Yeah, yeah, what else is new? You gotta stop critiquing these things on how badly they mangle the science, or you're never going to enjoy it."

"I'm never going to enjoy it, full stop. Giant mutant bugs eating Manhattan? We've had that adventure, Bobby, and it wasn't this stupid."

"Eat your popcorn, Blue."

They watched the movie, despite Hank's comments about the scientific and medical improbability and the downer ending, and went on to another – this one about killer asteroids. It was somewhere in the wee hours of the morning when Bobby finally turned off the TV, and tried to get the students to go to their beds.

Hank, the sneaky bastard, had given up his seat early, and spent most of the evening on the floor with his back against the couch. Bobby knew that Hank was being sneaky, because he had his glasses off and a book held in his feet. He'd been reading during movies again – the farsighted, see-in-the-dark, cat-eyed twerp.

On the other hand, three of the younger kids had taken advantage and used him as a cushion. He had a set of lump-like teens sprawled on him.

"You should have those growths checked out, Blue," Bobby teased.

"Do shut up, Bobby," Hank muttered, and slithered up into a crouch with a move that would have made a competitive gymnast envious. "Wake up, children. The movie is over, and it's time to go to bed."

"But, Dr. McCoy…"

Bobby smirked as Hank dealt with the sleepy whining and pleas for replay of the movie ending. He only had to push the older (surlier) students to bed; Hank got to deal with the clingy ones.

...

"…one of those little idiots subverted the firewall and downloaded porn," Kitty said.

Hank looked up at that.

Scott had one of his severe frowns on, Kitty looked annoyed, Emma condescending, Peter worried… and Logan was conspicuously not looking at anyone. Really, the man should be able to bluff better than that – but Hank had to own up before Kitty went any further onto her tear.

It wasn't fair to let her wrath pour over the innocent, or the not-guilty-of-this-at-least, in the case of Emma. Logan he would have happily left to Kitty's not-present-at-the-moment mercy, but she would tear into all the students in turn before she'd suspect Logan. Almost no one thought Logan had enough computer skills to order from Netflix, let alone anything more complicated.

"One of those big idiots, actually," Hank admitted.

The sequence of confusion, understanding, and appalled that swept Kitty's face could have been amusing at another time, but it just made Hank tired.

"You?!" Kitty asked.

"I'm an adult, and I'm paying for it with my own money. It's not like I'm using school funds."

"But… porn!" Kitty sputtered.

"Adult, and my money, Katherine."

"Hank, you shouldn't use the school servers," Scott said. Hank could see his jaw setting, disapproval in the lines of his shoulders.

"There aren't any other servers to use. Every computer on campus is routed through the same network, Scott. I did try to keep it inaccessible to the students." Hank turned to Kitty, "Did I misconfigure that somehow?"

Kitty snapped her mouth shut, and shook her head. "No. No, it's pretty hidden. I only found it because I was rooting pretty deep."

"Then I'm sorry to have startled you, Katherine." Hank said.

Scott gave them both very dubious looks, but went on to the next item on the agenda.

After all the old and new business was covered, and Emma released them (the only good thing about holding staff meetings by telepathic conference was that they took less time to say, but were just as boring), Katherine came by his lab.

"Hank, I…" she stammered, stopped in the doorway.

Hank folded his hands in his lap, and did his best to appear fluffy and harmless. As long as no one touched him, it was surprisingly easy to look like a giant plush toy – and that was dishearteningly reassuring to people, even ones who had known him for years. Only Bobby walked up to him without hesitation, no matter what his mood or how wild he looked.

She took a deep breath and started again. "I want to apologize. I shouldn't have freaked out. You're an adult, and you can do what you want with your own money," she recited, obviously a speech that she'd worked on in the time between the meeting and now.

"Thank you, Kitty," Hank said, trying to be gracious. He was still a bit annoyed at Kitty's earlier incredulity, but it didn't do to be resentful. It wasn't like he'd made an announcement he was downloading porn. He nodded to her and turned back to his workstation. He had data to analyze on his environmental monitoring project.

"But that stuff was all – it was really gay, Hank," Kitty blurted.

Hank slumped, and ran a hand over his cheeks. He knew his ears were back in annoyance when he looked up at Kitty, and that it made him appear more dangerous.

"I did tell everyone, Kitty. I even gave interviews to national news magazines." His voice was rising, but he couldn't help it. It was maddening, the way none of his friends paid any heed to the fact that he had changed inside as well as out – none but Jean, and she was dead. "I'm not straight anymore! What do I have to do to get it through your heads?!"

Kitty had backed up as he shouted, and was now phased halfway through the wall. She looked like some bizarre startled sculpture. He had frightened her.

"Oh, Katherine. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout." He took off his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes.

A feather soft touch on his shoulder – Kitty had crept forward, and had patted his arm in wavery reassurance.

"Hank… I… I didn't think you meant it. I mean, Scott kept saying you were playing one of your weird jokes. And it's not like you're dating a guy now…" Kitty paused, and then asked, "Are you?"

Hank could have cried. "No. I haven't been off campus for anything but missions and our weekly theater sessions." He smiled ruefully, "When would I have time to meet someone?"

"Well, there was Jean-Paul…"

"With whom I have nothing in common."

"Err, Anole?"

"A student?!" Hank was aghast.

"Right. You wouldn't. Well, there are a lot of men here, like—Logan! Uh, no, I can't see that–"

"Kitty, stop it, you're channeling my mother. It's disturbing."

Kitty smiled, she'd apparently decided outrageous suggestions were the way to go.

"I know," she laughed, "Kurt."

"Straight."

"Sam!"

"Straight," Hank said, chuckling along with her now.

"Bobby!"

"Straight…damnit." Hank looked away. His workstation with its air quality data was suddenly very interesting.

"…shit," Kitty whispered. "Hank, I didn't mean—"

"It would be so much easier if he wasn't straight," Hank barreled over her. It was easier to babble than to let her apologize, because the hurt was all his own doing and it was stupid, stupid to hurt over something that was a known fact and not anyone else's fault. "He's been my best friend for years and it would be so easy to love him and—"

"Hank, shut up," Kitty said, and then she was hugging him through the back of his chair, phasing through it because there was no way she could make him turn if he didn't want to. He simply weighed too much to be easily moved.

But her arms were around his neck – she'd never get around his chest, none of the women could, and very few of the men – and it was comfort, such comfort.

Hank let her hug him, and tilted his head as she put her cheek against his ear. When her hand came up to stroke through his hair, he just sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

The workstation bleating in alarm made him shrug Kitty off.

"What's that for?"

"Environmental air monitor. Excuse me, Kitty, I need to figure this out." He typed rapidly, trying to get the system to give him data that made sense.

Kitty stood beside him for a moment, then gave up with a "Uhm, okay. See you later…" and walked through the lab door without bothering to open it.

Hank thumped at his computer. Those readings were ridiculous. The computer was registering contamination in this lab. A polypeptide? Hank brought up the spectrographic monitoring data, trying to see what the computer was detecting.

Airborne oxytocin… what?

Hank blinked, and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, fudge. This is bad…"

...

Bobby was coming into the kitchen for a little between-snack snack when he heard the yowl of displeasure.

"Mr. Gleason... what do you think you are doing?"

"Eeep! Uhm… I gotta… go! Bye!" Nicholas dashed out the kitchen door, clutching his book bag, his ears flattened in embarrassment, as Bobby ducked aside. It was that, or be run over, and while the kid was narrow and kind of short, he was also solid muscle.

Bobby poked his head into the kitchen, far enough to see Hank staring unhappily at a plate, his ears folded out to the side in annoyance. He had a knife in one hand, and his other hovered over a sandwich he'd obviously been making.

"What happened just now?"

"I am having a most bizarre day…" Hank muttered, and gestured to the plate on the kitchen counter.

Two sandwiches already, healthy carrot and pepper slices, potato chips, cake – looked like a normal Hank lunch, at least until Bobby got close enough to see what had freaked Hank out.

The kid had rearranged Hank's lunch while Hank had been making another sandwich, as far as Bobby could guess. It would have been funny if the cake outlined by an artistic fan of sliced fruit hadn't been a big pointy arrow of a student crush. Weird – Bobby had been pretty sure that the kid liked girls, and Hank wasn't generally the guy the younger kids made googly-eyes at. That was Warren, and occasionally Scott.

Hank looked twitchy, which was messier than frazzled, and less enthusiastic than I've-been-up-all-night-on-double-espresso-and-done-wonderful-mad-science-come-see-Bobby!

"This happen a lot today?" Bobby asked

"Gleason is just the latest. Miss Kinney was the really disturbing one."

"Miss Kin—Laura? Baby Wolverine made goo-goo eyes at you?"

"Oh, how I wish it were just that," Hank moaned.

"What could be worse than that girl with a crush? I've seen her when she's upset. At least Wolverine can act like a human being when he tries."

Whatever Hank was going to say in reply was cut off when Scott stormed into the kitchen. His jaw was set, his shoulders stiff, and he had a finger raised to point.

"Hank, the joke isn't funny. It was never funny, and it's time you stopped it."

Bobby looked at Hank. Hank looked at Bobby.

Hank put on a calm and polite air, and asked, "What joke is that, Scott?"

"The GAY joke. Downloading that stuff was just tasteless, Hank."

Bobby watched as Hank froze. It was like watching a Hank statute form in the kitchen, except he hadn't iced up anything. What gay stuff, he wondered, not following Scott at all.

"You went into my files?"

"I had to check that the students couldn't get at it. You set me up, with all that porn. That was just gross, Hank."

"Scott, you're Headmaster, you have access to all the accounts on the network. Of course you could get into my files."

"Just get rid of it, Hank."

"I bought those files with my own personal funds, Scott. I'll get an external hard drive and move them, but I'm not trashing them just because you say so."

"Err… what files?" Bobby asked.

Scott turned to look at Bobby, as if he hadn't realized that Bobby was right there. Which wasn't fair; yeah, the blue furry guy drew immediately attention, but Bobby wasn't invisible, or even iced-up and translucent at the moment.

"Hank put gay porn on the system."

Bobby turned to look at Hank. "Gay porn?"

"Yes, Bobby," Hank said, his ears pinned back and his ruff of fur beginning to bristle out. Bobby felt the sudden need to be elsewhere.

"Okay. That's…" Bobby babbled, "I'll just be going now, yes." He escaped by ducking though the old pantry, not wanting to be anywhere Hank was, what with Hank puffing up until he looked absolutely huge. Scott had nerves of steel – or brains of jello, Bobby couldn't decide which.

...

Scott was so firmly in Egypt that he really should own a houseboat, Hank decided; it would keep him out of trouble, and remove from Hank the temptation to knock him into a wall. Or find a willing fellow to make out with in front of Scott, which seemed unlikely, given how his social life currently consisted of shepherding schoolchildren and occasionally attending theater with Kitty. He still wanted to take her to see 'Orpheus in the Underworld' – maybe 'Acis and Galatea' hadn't been a good choice, but Orpheus was funny and her French was good enough that she wouldn't even have to pay attention to the surtitles.

The training session that evening was downright boring, with the killer robots and de rigueur villainous monologue – honestly, Scott was a better speaker, and Scott's pep-talks generally motivated them by threatening to repeat himself ad nauseum if he didn't get the results he wanted – so Hank amused himself by figuring out where the holographs hid the walls and bouncing off them.

Until Scott called a halt to the scenario and made him stop, the spoil-sport.

"I think it's a wonderful ability to have – knowing where the walls are. I'm certain that will be an important life skill later on," Emma drawled as the holographs turned off

"This scenario is kind of bland," Kitty pointed out. "How did we wind up with it?"

"You wrote the generator, Kitty. Maybe the randomizer isn't random enough," Hank said.

"Huh. I guess the law of averages had to stick it to us eventually."

Logan gave her a dubious look. "It's boring because of numbers, darling?"

"It isn't designed to throw wild-cards every time, Logan. That'd be unrealistic. We just got a bunch of no-incident outcomes all at once. Let me go reset it," Kitty said and air-walked up into the control room.

The holograms sprang to life, and they were suddenly in feet deep mud and being attacked by monstrous tentacles.

"Perhaps this is too interesting, Katya," Peter yelled as Kitty sank back in the Danger Room, and was promptly swatted at.

None of them could maneuver well, with sticky black earth sucking at their feet, but Peter and Logan were the worst off with their weight trapping them in the mud. Scott struggled through it with exaggerated steps and great effort, while Emma stopped moving her feet at all after almost losing her boots. Kitty just phased on top of it, and Hank managed to stay mostly on top of it because his outsized hands and feet spread his enormous weight surprisingly well.

It was quite disgusting, and extremely fun, as it turned out. Until a tentacle swept Peter off his feet, and Logan and Hank were caught by the whipping backsweep while trying not to fall over the younger man.

They crashed into each other, and went sprawling. Hank wound up on the ground, crumpled into a position that usually only came with intense yoga, and more or less wearing Wolverine. There was mud in his ears.

"Off!" Scott cried, and the holograms faded once again. Which was a wonderful relief because the holographic mud disappeared, and Hank didn't have to fight the impulse to claw his head inside out anymore.

"That was pretty good." Logan said, still sprawled on top of Hank.

"Until the end," Hank pointed out.

"Yeah, that wasn't good," Logan said. He rolled off Hank, and caught his breath. He patted Hank's chest, "You okay, Doc?"

Hank uncoiled himself, winding up flat on his back. "Nothing's broken." But he had been hit with three hundred pounds of Canadian at speed, so he was a little tender.

"You sure, Doc?" Logan patted him again, slower, like he was checking for bruises.

"Yes, Logan, I'm fine. Nothing that won't heal overnight."

Logan's hand had stopped over Hank's heart. "You're all hot here. You bruised?"

Hank froze. Logan didn't do concern like this… oh, this was bad. And creepy. Because Logan had loopy smile on his face and it was disturbing.

"Get your hands off me, Wolverine."

Logan's grin fell away, which would have been reassuring, except that now he had a hurt look on his face. It was really quite disturbing.

"I'm going now."

"Hank, you don't—"

"Yes! Yes, I do!" Hank bleated and made his escape, out the door and down the corridor, dropping down to all fours to go faster. He had to get away, he had to get out.

...

Bobby was the one who found him, up a maple on the far end the lawn between the dock and the edge of the woods. Hank was a shadowy blob in the canopy, except that his eyes shone green when Bobby turned the flashlight in his direction.

Getting a coherent story about why he'd run away from a Danger Room session, however, was like pulling teeth. Teeth that had been coated with taffy first. And possibly silly putty…

"I'm quite happy here. I'm thinking of building a tree house, in fact, and moving in permanently…" Hank babbled. He'd been babbling for minutes, in that distracting way he had when he didn't want to talk about himself. Bobby had let him go for a while, just hanging out on the ice pillar he'd used to get up to Hank's level, but he kept have to renew it in the warm night air, and it was kind of boring.

"Hank?" Bobby leaned down to peer into Hank's eyes. He didn't like the way his friend was avoiding looking at him.

"This is embarrassing…"

"Yeah, so? Is it any more embarrassing than the time with the turkey chicks when we were kids?"

Hank's head snapped up, and his ears pinned back as he glared. "Nothing could be more embarrassing than that." And then he added, because he was Hank and Hank was a pedant and a farm boy, "Baby turkeys are poults, not chicks."

"You," Bobby countered, "are avoiding the question."

"I'vebeenproducingairborneoxytocin," Hank blurted.

Bobby frowned. "Airborne oxycodone?"

Hank's ears went back again. "Oxytocin. Not oxycodone. It's a nonapeptide neurotransmitter and hormone – not an opiod."

"Repeat that, in English. No words over two syllables."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Bobby. You got through the CPA exam. Are a few biochemistry terms that hard?"

"English, Hank."

"It's a hormone that effects lactation, childbirth, bonding, and arousal – and that last is the important point, Bobby. I've been producing an airborne version, a pheromone, which is making everyone who is standing anywhere near me just a little bit too 'friendly'! And I can't control the fact that I seem to be pumping out clouds of it!" The last bit Hank snarled, his eyes narrowed and all his teeth on display.

"So," Bobby asked, just to make things clear, "You're saying your body is putting out what? 'Pet me' signals?"

Hank's ears went all the way down and flat against his skull at that, and the hair on his neck bristled out.

"Omigod!" Bobby yelped. "Wait… really? 'Pet me'?"

"It's a lot more complicated than that, Bobby. But yes, more or less."

"So, what's the problem? I mean, okay, going up to people and asking them to rub your ears is kind of weird, but that's the X-Men's stock in trade, right?"

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"You think I'm sitting out here because I'm embarrassed, Bobby? I'm not. I'm terrified!"

"Huh?"

"Oxytocin effects sexual arousal," Hank bit off each word precisely.

"Is that why the kids have been making googly eyes at you recently?" Bobby asked. "That's kind of neat. Too bad you can't bottle it."

"I am going to strangle you, Bobby."

"Oh…kay. Not so good, then? Because… the students are hitting on you. That could get awkward," Bobby said. And was not good for Hank, who had a hard enough time being taken as a real person by the outside world. A bunch of teens acting out their crushes on the 'weird' teacher? Not good.

"But why did you run away from the Danger Room? Scott said you and Wolverine crashed into each other and then you skedaddled… Oh my god, Logan hit on you? Ewww!"

"To say the least. And he didn't 'hit' on me." Hank said, "It was more of a grope…"

"Eww." Bobby slid a little closer on his ice pillar. "I do not need that image."

"I don't need that image, and it was me that it happened to."

"I'll protect you from big, bad Wolverine, if you want."

"I'm completely capable of protecting myself," Hank said. "I'm just not able to turn the pheromones off."

Bobby reached up and patted Hank's arm. "You're a genius. You'll think of something."

"I've been working on it for days now, Bobby. Ever since I noticed it – my environmental monitoring project, if you can believe it? I was setting up a baseline, against something happening with the students – and instead it's me!"

Hank looked so dejected and sad; Bobby wished he could make it better. Maybe that ear-scratching idea wasn't so dumb – Hank's fur was silky as a cat's, after all. And he did lean into it when Bobby moved his hand up to curl around his ear.

Then the big dummy ruined it by jerking away and asking, "Bobby? What are you doing?"

"Dunno… Maybe… this?" Bobby asked, and pulled Hank back down. He tasted good as Bobby kissed him. And he leaned into it, too, until he jerked away again, with a squeaky little gasp.

"Hey!" Bobby whined. "I was enjoying that! Stay still and let me do that again."

"Would you be making that offer if you weren't right next to me?" Hank yelped as he scooted away.

"Of course. You're my best friend."

"You. Are," Hank hissed, "Straight!"

"Uh, yeah?" Bobby paused. "Yeah, I am. Shit… Hank, what are you doing?!" Bobby yelped as Hank scrambled away, flitting up through the branches.

"Getting away from you, Bobby! You're not thinking clearly. Go inside! We can talk over our coms."

"I don't think is the kind of discussion we should have over walkie-talkie, Hank!" Bobby yelled into the darkness.

"I don't think we should be having it with you on roofies, either!" Hank retorted.

...

Bobby was going, finally. Hank watched as his friend made his way back over the lawn and disappeared into the gardens. The relief of not having such temptation around let him pour himself along the bough he was perched on; Hank knew he probably resembled nothing more than a gigantic housecat at moment, but at least he could be comfortable as he tried to work through his dilemma.

Maybe he could manufacture an anti-sense pheromone to counter the effects? And what, wear it as cologne? Even if he could get a working anti-sense agent made, he'd have to worry about dissipation rates. He needed to get this under control, is what he needed to do.

Unfortunately, his pheromone production was entirely outside his voluntary control. Poor Miss Collins had been able to learn control, but her power had been regulated by her somatic nervous system – an alpha level power. Hank's was entirely autonomic; he'd done brain scans to check. He could no more will pheromone production than he could sweat by wanting to – which was why it was a beta level power at best. His one non-physical gift, and he couldn't do anything with it except deal with the consequences.

Maybe he could find an injectable counter-agent? Something that would stop production before it even started? Unfortunately, any hormonal counter-agent would probably interfere with other hormones in his body. As it was, his endocrine system was barely recognizable as human – any tinkering could shut down his kidneys or his liver, or if he were truly unfortunate, send him spiraling into multiple-organ failure.

...

In the morning, Bobby woke up with an idea. It took some rummaging through the lab storage to find what he needed, but thank goodness several of his teammates were packrats, and Hank was an organized packrat.

Finding the right canister and getting it hooked in properly was more work, and Bobby had to resort to sitting on the floor with a screwdriver in one hand and the instruction manual in another, but he was finally ready to go talk to Hank.

The big blue idiot was still hunkered in the maple tree by the dock. He must have spent all night out there. He didn't make a very convincing squirrel, even if Bobby was willing to humor him.

Bobby marched right up that tree and shouted, "Hey, Blue, what's with the squirrel act?"

That startled Hank and made him poke his head out of the branches.

Bobby was right there to meet him, and grinned as wide as he could to be seen through the plastic.

Hank fell out of the tree laughing. He landed on his head, more or less, but he was Hank. Dropping eight feet headfirst wasn't even going to give him a bump.

"What the hell!?" Hank managed as he convulsed with laughter.

"You said I couldn't talk to you because of the whatsits in the air," Bobby said, a little louder to make himself heard through the plastic. "This is the perfect solution."

"A respirator?! You found a respirator!" Hank kept laughing, and pointing. When he finally calmed down, he asked, "Where did you find a respirator?"

"Dug it out of storage. With all the garbage we have in the basements, a gas mask wasn't hard to find." Bobby crouched down, "C'mon, Hank, it's not that funny."

"Oh, Bobby, it's brilliant!" Hank said, climbing to his feet.

...

"So, what are you going to do about this?" Bobby asked. After Hank had stopped giggling, they'd moved out from the tree and the dock and the chance of any of the students wandering up to the lake. Currently, they were sprawled head to head in the grass at the edge of the wood. And looking at the shapes in the clouds – it was a thing they did.

"I'm thinking that an anti-sense counter-agent might be the best bet. Fortunately, it won't be too hard to formulate with all the equipment we have. I'll have to work on diffusion and dissipation rates, so it will be a bit of trial-and-error for a while—"

"But at least Logan won't grope you again?"

"God forbid." Hank did not need that experience ever again. Ever. If he were fortunate, Logan would deny it as well, and not decide to settle things with a fight. Hank knew he could kick Wolverine through a wall if he had to, but the sawed-off asshole always got up again – like a Weeble, really.

"Heh." Bobby pointed to a cloud just southeast of overhead. "That one is a cruise liner."

"It's an ichthyosaur, Bobby."

"I don't think so. No teeth. Hey, Blue..?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did it hit Logan first? Why not Kitty, or Emma? They were in the Danger Room too, right?"

"Logan has enhanced senses, including a vomeronasal organ – that's the one that registers pheromones. And Logan is male."

"Er… so you really are gay."

"I told everyone I was, Bobby. Did you think I was lying?"

"I dunno. I thought you said it to get back at Trish after she dumped you? And then she blabbed it to everyone on the planet like she always does and you wouldn't back down—you get stupid stubborn like that."

Hank sighed. He had been very foolish, over Trish and everything else. "At first, it was 'Why can't I be gay? Is that so unbelievable?' because it really is annoying how people seem to think they know me because I've been interviewed a few times—"

"Hank, you were an Avenger. With a publicity guy and everything. That's a lot more than a 'few' interviews."

"—however, once I stopped being defensive – and that took a lot longer than it should have, because Scott kept playing ostrich and Emma kept needling me about it in that infuriatingly smug way she has – I realized that under all the mood swings and hormonal imbalances I really had changed."

"So… gay."

"Gay." Hank sighed, and felt compelled to add, "Or a lot less straight than I thought I was, anyway."

"And you've told everyone in the whole world and nobody believes you except the tabloids."

"Most of the people who should, don't." Simon, for instance, had asked Hank what sort of involved prank he was playing, the last time they'd run into each other; however, their friendship was on rocky ground, what with Simon's involvement in the Initiative, and Hank's decidedly dubious view on it. Wonderman could be deliberately blind when he chose. "Scott, Emma, Kitty… I have a list."

"Your parents?"

"Oh, let's not talk about my parents. Mom didn't believe me until she did, and then she started talking about George Anderson, who I haven't seen since high school, but he's apparently come home to help his parents on their farm, and maybe we could 'get reacquainted'."

"Err…" Bobby asked, confused, "he's gay and your Mom is trying to set you up?"

"Yes." Hank added, because apparently it was time to confess, and he had always trusted Bobby – more than a priest, it seemed. "She asked about Scott, who was married at the time, and then it went Logan, Warren—"

"–Me?"

"Yes." That had been painful, when his mom brought up Bobby. Especially when she didn't believe him about Bobby's confirmed (if badly executed) heterosexuality. It would probably have been a more convincing protest if his subconscious hadn't been arguing in the other direction.

"Ok…but it's not like you're interested. So that's just your Mom."

Hank didn't say anything. He should have – lying would have been easy, just a word or two, but it hurt to even thinking doing so.

"You aren't interested, right? You yelled and ran away, when that – thing—happened last night." Apparently, Bobby too was avoiding saying the truth. What a pair they were.

"You're my best friend, Bobby. And, yes, I'm now attracted to you." Hank threw his arm across his eyes. If Bobby were going to leave, it would be now. "I'm sorry if that bothers you."

The grass rustled – Bobby was shifting, probably fidgeting. He spoke up, his voice soft and confidential. "It's a little weird. Especially with the mind-whammy."

"I'm not doing it deliberately."

"I know, Blue. And I kissed you. Because of the mind-whammy pheromone thingy."

Hank stared up at the cloud-flecked sky, seeing the shapes of dreams and hopes, but no answers.

"You're not angry?"

"In a 'I'm never going to speak to you again' way? No. Just… it's a little weird."

"You said that."

"I did. Cause it's true. This is weird. I've never had a guy I knew have a crush on me."

Hank turned over to look at Bobby "You've had guys you didn't know have crushes on you?"

"Dude, there are sites for me on the internet. Some of them are really detailed, and a little scary."

"Tell me about it. I bet you don't have 'furries' speculating about you…"

"'Furries'?"

"Long, disturbing story, Bobby," Hank said, and turned back over to look at the clouds again.

"'Furries'?! You have furry fans? You're talking anthropomorphic comic buffs here, right, not guys who love their pets a little too much?"

"Bobby, how do you know about furries?" Hank asked, bristling up.

"Geek Social Hierarchy, Hank; look it up. I was curious about who ranked below Trekkies. It was kind of disturbing."

Hank lay back down. "That it is."

"And I kissed you."

"You did. Under the influence of a mood-altering substance."

"It was pretty good."

"Again, under the influence of a mood-altering substance."

"You said that. I'm not an idiot. Or twelve. I kissed you."

"Bobby…" Hank sighed. He just wanted to get past this, if they could. He'd figure out the solution to his out-of-whack pheromones, and they'd get past it. If Bobby didn't stay freaked out.

"I'm okay with it. I'm pretty sure I am, anyway."

"Thank you, Bobby."

"Your Mom's right, you know…"

Hank didn't follow. "I should call up George Anderson?"

"No. You should date – but I don't want any details, okay? – cause maybe you're making all these 'pet me' pheromones because you're lonely and if you were dating someone that would stop… and that was a totally stupid thought, wasn't it?"

"No. It's a good thought. Not a practical one, the way life is right now, but it's probably the best long term solution. Better than tinkering with my hormones."

"You're my best friend, Hank. I want you to be happy… and not accidentally mind-whammying people."

Hank laughed.

"So we'll work something out, right?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, we will work something out. There has to be some solution out there. Somewhere."

"And I think you should date. Because you're going stir-crazy from being stuck on campus for months. You used to like going out…meeting girls – except I guess it's meeting guys now – and stuff. So you should?"

"Bobby, are you giving me permission to date other men?" Hank laughed.

"Well, kind of. I guess – you should. If it makes you happy."

Hank teased, "Have anyone in mind?"

"Hank, the only out guy I know personally is Jean-Paul, and he's a little crazy at the moment. And a jerk almost always. You deserve better."

"Thank you, Bobby." Hank closed his eyes and wriggled against the grass. The warm sunlight and green smell of crushed plants were making him sleepy – well, that and the emotional exhaustion of the last few days.

Bobby flopped back and sighed. "And Hank?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm really sorry it can't be me."

"It's all right, Bobby. It's not like I didn't know that to start with."

"So… best buds, right?"

Hank opened his eyes, and titled his head back. Bobby was on his back too, head back to meet Hank's eyes through the plastic facemask of the respirator. He had a hand up, curled into a loose fist.

Hank put his own hand up, and they bumped their knuckles together.

"Best buds, Bobby. I couldn't ask for better."

"And don't you forget it." Bobby laughed, and tucked his hands under his head, whistling.

Hank wouldn't.


End file.
